


The Longest Night

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Banter, Campfires, Canon Compliant, Gen, Ghost Stories, Humor, Insults, Possibly Pre-Slash, SO MUCH BANTER, Samhain, Storytelling, not spooky really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: Samhain Eve is a bad time to be away from home. So Arthur and the Knights tell stories, to pass the time. When everyone finds Gwaine's tale a bit hard to stomach, Percival has a bright idea. How about asking Merlin to take a turn?





	The Longest Night

It was going to be a long night, thought Percival.

It hadn’t been anybody’s choice to spend Samhain in the forest, so far from Camelot. Elyan had had the bright idea of telling ghost stories to pass the time, and Percival really, really wished that he hadn’t. Because after the last story, which unfortunately happened to be from Gwaine, Percival was sure that he wasn’t the only one feeling a little queasy. Except Gwaine. Obviously. Gwaine, who had somehow managed to procure an apple, which he was crunching with enthusiasm. Git.

When a sudden, nearby hoot rang out, the hairs on the back of Percival’s neck prickled, and he almost rose from his perch upon the log. But it was just an owl calling. Its pale, silent body swooped over the camp and it vanished into the trees. They needed to do something to distract themselves from the gloom of the forest. 

“I think Merlin should have a turn,” blurted Percival in a voice that was louder than he'd intended. Leon, on his left, flinched at the sound. Percival's heart was pounding and he tried, he really tried, to keep his voice steady.

Prince Arthur, sitting opposite, tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I suppose we could let the idiot have a turn.” His words were cold, but his voice and the lopsided tilt of his mouth, warm in the glow of the campfire, betrayed only affection. “His babbling might amuse us for a moment or two.”

“Well, haha,” said Merlin. “It can’t be any worse than listening to you drone on about chopping people up.”

“Drone on? I had you in the palm of my hand. All my men agree with me. Don’t you, men?” Arthur glared round at them as if daring them to contradict him.

Percival suppressed his smile. The prince’s story had been somewhat pompous, revolving as it did around his own prowess in battle.

“If you say so, Sire.” Lancelot chuckled.

“See?” The smug expression on Merlin’s face rapidly changed when Arthur cuffed him (gently) around the ear. “They all agree with— Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m not going to just sit here and be insulted!” growled Arthur. “By some rambunctious, ill-disciplined peasant with an overdeveloped sense of his own importance.”

“There’s plenty of room over there.” Merlin gestured towards Percival’s log. “Don’t let me stop you. Arrogant clotpole.”

“Insufferable bumpkin.” Arthur nudged Merlin’s shoulder with his own.

“Supercilious prat.” Merlin nudged back.

“Insolent, blockheaded upstart.” Arthur pushed this time, a little harder so that Merlin almost fell off the log.

Merlin’s mouth twisted into an indignant moue and a tiny dimple appeared beneath his lip, which meant that he was dreaming up an even more elaborate insult. They could go on like this for hours. Across the fire, Percival caught Gwaine’s eye.

“Do something!” Gwaine mouthed.

“All right.” Grinning, Percival turned back to Merlin. “Please, Merlin. Do tell us a story. Just one. To relieve the monotony. Please.”

“Of all the conceited, self-important, egotistical dollo— Hmm? What, me?” Merlin looked up from his developing rant, startled. “But I’m just a peasant. I don’t have any exciting stories about vanquished demons or… or… beheaded ladies. Or stuff like that.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Lancelot, quietly. “I’ll bet you have more stories than you let on.”

“Huh.“ Biting his lip, Merlin bent to stoke the fire. It flared, flames leaping high, reflecting a vivid gold on the darks of his eyes. “I can’t top Gwaine’s. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

“Me neither,” said Elyan, with a tiny shudder. He was sharpening his sword, the regular swish-swish of his whetstone a quiet whisper in the night. “Nor, after that, will I be in a hurry to rescue any damsels in distress. Which is why we need you to distract us with a story of your own, Merlin. Something a little less… disturbing.”

“Ay.” Leon was perched next to Percival on the log. “Samhain Eve is a bad enough time to be out in the forest without that git Gwaine spooking us out with his tales of the living dead. Give us something a bit lighter.”

Gwaine snorted, and tossed his hair. “You love it really.” He took a long swig of the mead skin, and grinned, teeth flashing. “And I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Well, there might be one,” said Merlin. “I suppose.”

“Yes! Please tell us,” said Percival, relieved.

“I’m not sure you’ll like it.” Merlin bit his lip and looked slyly out of the corner of his eye at Arthur.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Bloody well get on with it, Merlin, and stop being such an utter tease.”

“Huh. You couldn’t ask nicely?”

“Merlin!” growled Arthur, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

“Oh, very well.” With a put-upon huff, Merlin gazed up at the heavens as if seeking inspiration from the stars. He took a deep breath, and his voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. “I learned it from a wise woman, long ago.”

A witch! Percival rubbed his hands together. It was a promising start.

“She lived in terrible poverty, her clothes were tattered, and her hair fell in thick matted waves to her waist.”

Merlin spoke well, as if educated far beyond his allotted station in life. As well he might be, with Gaius as his mentor. Intrigued, Percival leaned forward, elbows on knees. Around him, the other knights did the same. Even Arthur sat quietly, facing his manservant. Listening.

“She agreed to tell my fortune, if I crossed her palms with silver. I only had a few copper pennies, but she stared at me, even through eyes blinded by cataracts, and spoke in that odd, cackling voice of hers. Cracked, with age, and hoarse, it was. Painful to listen to.

Merlin licked his lips, and then resumed in an even quieter voice.

“ _‘Merlin’_ , she said.”

It was uncanny, how Merlin’s voice changed, almost as if the witch was among them. The men around him leaned in. Elyan’s hand paused upon the whetstone. Into the sudden silence, the now-distant owl hooted. Percival shivered.

“ _‘A pretty little falcon.’_ ” Merlin went on, in her voice. “ _But deadly. Give me your coppers, Merlin, and I shall see!’_ She took my hand, and traced her clawed finger along the lines upon it.”

When Leon, to his side, made the sign against the evil eye, Arthur didn’t even comment.

“ _‘You are an old soul,’_ she said. _‘You have lived before. The cycle of life. Over and over again. The traces of it lie in your skin and your bones like scars.’_ Well, I scoffed of course. But she silenced me again with her bony fingers upon my palm. _‘Hush,’_ she said. _‘Hush, my little falcon. I see the traces of your past lives upon you. Here, for example.’_ She drew her line up my neck, from throat to chin.’”

Merlin echoed the movement. Every pair of eyes around the campfire followed the trace of his long fingers, even as he described it, his voice barely audible now above the hiss and crack of the fire.

“ _‘You were a dog, in a past life,’_ she said. Her wizened face breaking into an evil cackle. ‘ _And a cart ran into you, and broke your neck. You died. Here! Feel the trace of it, along here?’_ She pointed to this spot at my neck.”  

Merlin gazed at a distant point in the sky, his forefinger resting upon his pulse point.

“And if you just put your finger on it, now...” he said. “Arthur? Go on. Put your finger on it. Feel it, Arthur.”

Frowning, Arthur obediently reached towards Merlin’s neck with one gloved finger.

“WOOF!” yelled Merlin at the top of his voice.

Every knight in that camp, Arthur included, unanimously leapt into the air, fumbling for his sword. Merlin went off into peals of laughter.

“Your faces!” he choked, slapping his knee in his mirth. “Oh, Goddess, Arthur, I got you good with that one!”

Arthur’s expression was indeed a picture. Murderous rage and surprise warred with begrudging respect. He huffed out a laugh. Gwaine was already doubled over, letting out a sequence of wheezy chuckles.

“Well,” He sat back down on his log and slapped Merlin hard on the back. “I suppose that wasn’t bad.” He paused, before adding. “For an ignorant, obstreperous lummox, that is.”

“Ooh, careful with those big words,” retorted Merlin, immediately. “Wouldn’t want your head to explode.”

“I’ll make your head explode!” said Arthur, shoving Merlin’s shoulder.

Gwaine caught Percival’s eye.

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> For the incomparable Ange, who made me laugh so much with this silly story about the dog, years ago. Rest in peace, dear friend. I'll miss you so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Unbeta-ed, I'm afraid.


End file.
